Boredom
by threesummerdays
Summary: "Just remember, Ruth: boredom and bedroom use the same letters." "So?" "Well, I suppose one leads to the other..." A conversation with a friend makes Ruth think about her relationship with Harry. Set around 3.1 - oneshot of pure fluff!


**A/N:** I really wanted to finish an essay this morning (one that's due, oh, this week), but then I thought I'd get a chapter of DEM and then _this_ popped into my head and I couldn't get rid of it. Forgive me for the length, but I couldn't bear to chop it up! :)

* * *

"You slept with him? You can't go around sleeping with the boss! You_ slept_ with _him_?"

"Why not?" the woman says, taking a sip of her espresso and staring Ruth down over the rim of her mug.

"Rebecca," Ruth hisses, "you slept with _Oliver Mace_!"

"Yes, I know. And he wasn't half bad, if you know what I mean."

"I think everyone knows what you mean," she mutters, looking out the window with a disgusted wrinkle of her nose.

"Oh, come on, Ruth. Everyone thought you were sleeping with him for a while."

Ruth looks up, shocked. "What?"

"I mean, the way he was always around you, you always were the one reporting to him…"

"It was my _job_," she all but snarls. "And who thought we were sleeping together?"

"Everyone. Well, until he started calling you Ms. Evershed, which is when we figured you must have broken it off."

"It's hard to break something off when it hasn't even started."

"Speaking of hopeless, how's _your_ boss?"

Ruth stares at her friend, jaw dropping. Rebecca was her first friend she made at GCHQ, a friendly face in a sea of mathematicians, but she wasn't exactly Ruth's type. Heavy makeup, legs that go on forever, platinum blonde hair that's so much upkeep it makes Ruth's head spin just thinking about it. And yet here she is, having a cup of coffee on her break, trying to maintain the friendship.

She sighs and runs her finger over the rim of her mug. Rebecca watches, then rolls her eyes.

"Oh, Christ. You still haven't done anything about it, have you?"

"What can I do, Bex? Nothing. He's my _boss_. And, unlike some people, I respect the hierarchy."

"That's why you'll never be happy, Ruth. The hierarchy doesn't keep you warm at night."

"I doubt reptilian bosses do, either."

"Wasn't he shot recently?" Rebecca says, ignoring Ruth's jab.

"Yeah. That's been a nightmare."

"Tom Quinn, wasn't it?" At Ruth's curious gaze, she shrugs. "We all heard about it. Hard to keep that sort of thing contained in your section, dear."

"He's recovering," Ruth says, turning her eyes back to the window.

"Hospital?"

"Home. With a carer."

"Pretty, is she?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Oh, come on, Ruth," Rebecca says with a smirk. "You've already looked into his past affairs. Had a few, has he?" she adds at Ruth's grimace. "So you must've looked into her."

Ruth gulps down the rest of her coffee. "I'm late for a meeting."

"Just remember, he may need to use her ass. Oh, silly me," Rebecca adds with a light giggle. "I meant ass_ets_."

"It was nice to see you again, Bex."

"Just remember, Ruth: boredom and bedroom use the same letters."

"So?"

"Well, I suppose one leads to the other…"

Ruth gives her a look before putting money down on the table and walking out of the shop, reminding herself of why she doesn't have a social life.

* * *

"Is that all right, Mr. Pearce?"

"Yes, thanks, Rachel," he says, shifting uncomfortably against the pillow.

She smiles brightly at him and he notices, not for the first time, that she's a very pretty girl. _Girl_ being the operative word. The first time they met, she wore less makeup and her hair was swept into a tight ponytail. Now she wears more mascara than he's ever seen on one woman and her hair is always falling in soft curls. God, he hopes she doesn't want anything more from him…

Before she can ask if he needs anything more, there's a knock at the door and she looks curiously at him.

"Could you get that?" he says, hoping to have a second to himself. She nods enthusiastically and walks down the hall. He sighs and leans back into the chair.

"May I help you?"

"Hi. Is… Is Harry awake?"

"I'm sorry, he's not…"

"It's fine, Rachel," he calls from the chair, happy to hear her voice. "Come on in, Ruth."

She can't help but shoot the younger woman a triumphant smile as she walks past, dropping her coat onto the sofa and walking directly over to Harry's side.

"Hi," she says softly, and he smiles at her.

"Hi. How're things on the Grid?"

"Falling apart," she says, her voice serious but her eyes twinkling. "We always do when you're not there."

"I didn't want to take leave," he reminds her. "But they insisted."

"I know," she says, running a soothing hand over his forearm. "And it's a good thing they did. You'd never take a moment's rest if they didn't."

"But now I'm stuck at home doing nothing," he points out, and she shakes her head, still smiling.

"Could be worse," she mutters as Rachel comes back into the room.

"Is there anything else I can do, Mr. Pearce?" she asks, looking pointedly at Ruth.

"I think I'll be all right, thank you, Rachel."

She nods and, with one last look at her competition, she leaves the house. Ruth watches her, still silently crowing over her victory. She turns back to see Harry watching her face closely.

"Everything all right?" she says.

"No," he admits. "She can't fluff a pillow to save her life."

Ruth smiles and motions for him to lean forward so that she can fix it. He reminds himself that this is what Ruth is best at – fixing things. Section D, his pillow, his battered broken heart… _No_, he reminds himself. _Too personal. She doesn't want an old codger like you_.

She pulls back with another bright smile. "You could have told her," she says, and he shrugs.

"She tries hard. She's just terrible at being a carer."

"Pretty though," Ruth says quietly, and he watches her face as she avoids his eyes. When she looks up after a moment, he holds her gaze.

"Yes," he says slowly, "and old enough to be my daughter. Soon I might be telling her off for what kind of boys she likes."

"I think I could tell you that," Ruth mutters. He catches it, but before he can comment, she adds, "Something to drink? Not whiskey, before you ask."

He looks slightly put out, but shrugs. "Just something warm, if you would."

"Tea or coffee?" she asks, walking toward the kitchen.

"Tea's fine. But not that damn herbal shit she put in the cupboard."

Ruth freezes mid-reach in the cabinet. "She bought you tea?"

"Said it was supposed to be healthier or some such rubbish," he says, shutting his eyes for a moment. "Tastes horrible."

"Oh."

"She wanted me to drink it while I was eating a croissant. Do I look like an American to you?"

She leans around the doorway and smiles at him. "No, Harry."

"Good. Because I was starting to worry."

She shakes her head and returns to the kettle. "So you didn't want something more… exotic?"

The tension is so thick he's wondering if he's imagining it. But the way she says _exotic_ makes him positive that she's not just asking about the tea.

"When I was younger I might not have minded," he says slowly, listening to her movements as she puts on the kettle. "But now that I'm older and wiser, I just want… good old tea and biscuits."

"Good old tea," he hears her mutter. "Good. Old. Tea."

"But it can't be just any tea," he adds quickly, standing despite the pain in his shoulder that runs down his side and walking toward the kitchen. "It has to be sweet and warm and comforting."

"So sweet tea, then."

"Yes," he says, leaning heavily against the doorway. She still hasn't seen him or heard him, too caught up in her mind to notice.

"Boring old tea," she adds, fixing the mugs.

He watches her, his smile growing. "It doesn't have to be boring," he points out, and she jumps as she realizes his proximity, but she doesn't turn around.

"But it is."

"No. Quite the contrary, I'd say. Especially when it's boiling hot."

"So not lukewarm tea?"

"No," he says, voice low and silky, watching the tension in her back. "Funny thing, though, tea. Acts like it's lukewarm and stops steaming and just when you think it's safe to drink, it's actually boiling hot. You can hurt your tongue if you're not a professional," he adds, watching the blush creeping up her neck.

"Better than your lap," she points out, and he feels himself reacting to her deeply arousing voice, the tremors of which are still running through his veins.

"Fair point."

Tea ready, she turns around, handing him his mug. "Sure you don't want a croissant?" she says softly, and now that he can see her eyes, he knows this conversation hasn't been wasted.

"Positive," he says seriously, holding onto her beautiful blue gaze. "Just my favorite biscuit will do."

She blushes bright red, but she doesn't break their look.

"I'll bring it in for you then, shall I?" she says, and he's about to tell her he can take it when she nods at his arm. "Need to rest that arm up."

"Right. The arm."

She smiles at him and nods. "Yes. The arm. Go sit in the chair, will you?"

He smiles as she turns around and digs out a small plate of biscuits before he returns to the chair, sighing happily as he settles into the perfectly fluffed pillows.

She returns and sets the biscuits on the arm of the chair, stealing one and settling into the sofa, watching him carefully.

"Why did you agree to a carer?" she says suddenly, and he nearly spills his tea on himself.

"What?"

"Why did you agree to Rachel taking care of you?" she repeats patiently.

"I didn't," he says, and she knows he's telling the truth because he looks completely baffled. "Why the hell would I want some little girl taking care of me?"

"What would you have preferred?" she asks before she thinks about it.

"A woman," he says, equally un-hesitant.

The silence that falls is even more tense than they thought it had been in the kitchen, and Ruth mumbles something into her mug of tea while Harry sits, looking horrified with himself.

"So," Ruth tries again, "who made you take her on?"

"The DG," Harry says, still trying to understand why he would say that to the woman he's been pining after for a year. "It was part of the terms of agreement that I could keep Tom and Adam on."

"That's… odd."

"I think they're hoping I commit some vice against her," he says honestly, "so that they have leverage. Too bad I don't have eyes for her."

"And you have eyes for… someone… else?"

He looks up at her and every emotion she's been hiding for the past year comes swimming into view in those two beautiful oceans of hers. He wants to lie, his head is telling him to do it, just pretend, but he can't. Not with her.

"I do," he says quietly. "Very much so."

"Good," she says, blinking rapidly and standing to put her mug back in the kitchen, the tea still untouched. "I'd better get going."

"Ruth," he says quickly, but she shakes her head.

"Files to work on, paperwork to do," she mutters, but he stands again, and again ignores the pain shooting down his side.

"Ruth," he repeats, but she's already in the kitchen. He can hear the mug dropping into the sink and as he walks in, he stares at her leaning on the counter, doing her best to stop shaking as she squeezes her eyes shut.

"Ruth," he says again, his voice so soft that she can't help but look up at him.

His heart breaks in the instant he sees the pain hovering in her eyes. If they were just more emotionally forthright…

"It's not Rachel," he says. "It never has been, and it never will be."

She looks slightly happier, but still turns away to stare at the sink.

"Nor is it Juliet or Jane," he adds, testing the water. She jerks a little but tries not to show her surprise at his mentioning their names, and he knows that she's read his file.

_Of course she has. You've read hers, haven't you?_

"None of their names sends quite the same thrill through me, _Ruth_."

His emphasis surprises her and she looks momentarily interested, even though she's still staring at the granite.

"None of them is quite my _cup of tea_. Do you understand me, _Ruth_?"

She's starting to smile and he knows she's just afraid of being wrong.

_As if she ever could be._

"And… do you have a… particular… _cup of tea_ that suits your fancy?" she says, choosing her words carefully.

"Very much," he says honestly. "One particular cup that I happen to enjoy every day I go to work. And whose name I tend to enjoy saying. _Ruth_."

She turns to look at him and the way he's smiling at her confirms her most hopeful wishes. She takes a nervous step towards him, ignoring the mug he's set down on the counter.

"I like this particular tea very much," he says again, reaching out with his good arm and tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"I don't think you've really experienced it," she says softly, her eyes darkening by the second. "Not yet, anyway."

"Well then," he says, his hand still lingering around her neck. "What do you suggest?"

"I would suggest," she says slowly, "that you try it. With an expert."

"Hmm," he hums, and she swears he's leaning closer. "And who would that be?"

"Oh," she whispers, "I think I could find someone."

"I'll need a little help," he admits after a moment of staring into her eyes. "Arm's not quite up to snuff."

"I don't mind," she whispers, leaning closer.

Their first collision is the sweetest, most bumbling kiss either one has ever experienced. And it is, without a doubt, the most perfect.

His lips caress hers like she's never felt before – soft and sweet and completely in love with her. She nips at his lips and they open their mouths simultaneously, their tongues drawn together as though they'd never been apart. She melts into his arms, still carefully avoiding his shoulder as she wraps around him. His hands, meanwhile, have found their way tight around her waist and up in her hair.

He nudges her against the counter and she takes the hint, pulling herself up so that they have a better angle. He groans at the feel of her legs on either side of him, feels himself reacting even more to her already intoxicating presence. He's getting a little too excited and, as he places his good hand down beside her, he knocks over his mug of tea and she yelps as the tea seeps into her jeans.

"Oh, shit," he whispers, trying to help her jump down. She falls into his arms and looks down at her leg, soaked with sweet tea. She looks back up at him and starts to laugh.

"Very hot," she whispers, kissing him softly.

"I'm so sorry," he mumbles against her lips, but she shakes her head.

"Just gives me an excuse to get out of them," she says, and his heart stops.

He stares at her, his eyes bright and hopeful. "Ruth," he says, his voice hoarse, and she just smiles.

"You have a bedroom, don't you, Harry?" she says, eyes sparkling.

"Yeah," he says, nodding vigorously. "Of course," he adds as she smiles expectantly, "you have no idea where it is. I should probably show you."

"And," she says, leaning up to kiss him once more, "I think it might be more enjoyable if you come with me anyway."

He's never charged up the stairs so quickly in his whole life, Ruth giggling in tow behind him.

* * *

Her jeans are draped over a chair, still dripping tea onto the hardwood floor. The rest of their clothes are draped over furniture, in piles on the floor, flung into the hallway. Neither one really cares at all.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly as she traces Arabic patterns on his chest.

"For what?" she says, her head jerking up to stare at him.

"It should have lasted longer," he says, looking embarrassed.

"Harry," she says, letting her tongue roll around each letter carefully. "That was the most amazing… I've never… Just shut up," she says finally, stretching to kiss him full and firm.

He wraps his good arm around her waist and pulls her tight to his chest, smiling as she traces the scars on his body. He'll never forget the way she scraped her nails at his shirt, the way she ripped his pants down and stared at him in his naked glory before grinning like she'd just been given the first written recording of _The Iliad_ and pushing him back onto the bed. He'd held up his end, too – the way she arched against him and mewled as he made her his, the look in her eyes as she whispered the words he'd been waiting for – _God, I love you, Harry. Oh, Ruth, I love you, too._ – and the way she'd sighed so happily as he collapsed on her.

He's still lost in the beauty of the past hour when she runs a finger down the long scar stretching from one side to the other. He looks down at her and smiles as she kisses his chest softly.

"You're so beautiful," he says, tangling his fingers in her hair.

She blushes. "No one's ever said that before," she admits, and he shakes his head, kissing her softly.

"And no one else is ever going to," he says firmly. "Just me. And I promise I'll tell you every day."

She burrows into his embrace and mutters, "You're not half bad yourself."

He chuckles and shuts his eyes, knowing he can't fight sleep forever.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"Was it… was I… I mean…"

He opens his eyes and looks deep into hers. "It was precisely my cup of tea," he whispers, and she giggles before returning to her pillow of his chest. "My little biscuit," he adds, and she just shakes her head, though he can feel her smile against his skin.

"I love you, Harry Pearce."

"I love you, Ruth Evershed."

* * *

Rebecca looks around the shop and sighs, looking at her watch once again. They were supposed to meet fifteen minutes ago and she's nearly finished with her lunch break. Ruth's never been one for being late, so it must be a national emergency.

She's about to leave when her mobile beeps and she glances down at it. A new message from her missing lunch partner.

_Bex, sorry I'm not there. Something came up. If you know what I mean._

She shuts the mobile and starts to laugh, shaking her head. "Oh, my God," she mutters to herself. "She slept with the boss."

* * *

Ruth is remarkably still and, after being together for three weeks, Harry's a little nervous. She's always very cuddly afterwards, and the fact that she's just staring at his chest, running her fingers occasionally over him in perfectly straight lines, makes him wonder if everything's all right.

"Ruth?"

She looks up and smiles at him. "Hi," she whispers, and he kisses her softly.

"Everything all right?"

"I was just thinking."

"What a surprise."

"Someone told me once," she says slowly, "that boredom and bedroom use the same letters and that one leads to the other."

"Okay…"

"So boredom leads to the bedroom," she says, "and that was why she suggested I… well… That I distract you from your carer."

He chuckles and squeezes her lightly. "You already were doing that."

She smiles and traces a crescent just under his clavicle. "But that would mean that the bedroom could lead to boredom as well, right?"

He shakes his head, pulling her tight to him so that she can hear his heartbeat. "It can," he admits, "but for us, it won't. I'll never be bored with you, Ruth. I love you too much."

She smiles and burrows back into his embrace. Before either one can be comfortable, though, their mobiles ring and Ruth groans before burying her face into his neck.

"It's not going to be easy, is it?" she says as he reaches out for his.

"What?" he asks, confused, before he takes the call.

"Sleeping with the boss."

And when he answers, he has no explanation for why he's laughing out loud or why Ruth's laughter is joining in.

* * *

**A/N:** Boredom/bedroom lines came to me after reading a story called Boredom and one character said "Bedroom?" and I thought it said "Boredom?" And then it hit me. So hopefully it worked. :)


End file.
